Out Of The Frying Pan
by HalfshellVenus1
Summary: Dean and Sam vs. Castiel, Gen Crack Humor: It's not the blind leading the blind, but it isn't a whole lot better, either…


Title: **Out Of The Frying Pan**

Author: HalfshellVenus

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel (**Gen, Humor**)

Rating: K+

Summary: _It's not the blind leading the blind, but it isn't a whole lot better, either…_

Author's Notes: After **The Answer-Man Needs A Vacation**, **annj_g80 **mentioned wanting someone to teach Castiel to cook. This was the inevitable result.

x-x-x-x-x

"I don't understand why you want to learn about cooking. You never eat anything anyway."

Dean and Sam and Castiel were standing in the kitchenette of the Sea-Vue Motor Inn, a motel that formed the lone piece of commercial property in a dinky Southern Oregon coastal town. The town happened to be haunted, which was why the Winchesters were there in the first place.

Good thing they'd scoped the situation out ahead of time, and bought groceries on the way there. Although they'd been planning for just the two of them and whoever or whatever it was that needed the salt-and-burn treatment.

Funny how naïve those expectations seemed now.

"I wish to see some of the basic principles of cooking in action, with explanation."

"Uh huh," Dean said skeptically. "You know there are already cable channels for that kind of thing, right?"

"Angels cannot process television frequencies the way humans can. It distresses the _locus animus_."

"The what?"

"It hurts their brains, Dean," Sam put in. "In a manner of speaking."

"Precisely," Castiel agreed.

"Whatever." Dean sighed. He wasn't used to explaining things step-by-step anymore, now that Sam was all grown up. He'd always been more of a doer than a talker to begin with, and going backwards strained what little patience he had left. Castiel tended to have that effect on him anyway.

"All right," he finally said. "Sam and I are having toast and scrambled eggs and some stupid vegetables for dinner. So, Sam will put the bread in the toaster—make sure it's plugged in, and then you just push the lever down—and I'll handle the eggs."

Castiel nodded. "The machine cooks for you. Does it make those hamburger things you like?"

"Uh… not really," Sam answered. "Toasters are for bread."

"Crackers?"

"No, just bread." Sam rinsed some vegetables in the sink. "Now, see what I'm doing? Fruits and vegetables should be washed before eating."

"Like apple pie."

"No!" Dean interrupted in exasperation. "The idea of washing pie is practically heresy! Well, not _heresy_ exactly, but it's really, really wrong."

"So, no pie then."

"No pie." Dean poured some milk in a bowl. "In fact, we don't wash desserts in general."

"They are eaten while still dirty?"

_"Sam?"_ Dean pleaded.

"Forget the washing part for now." Sam handed Dean the eggs. "Let's concentrate on the rest."

"All right."

"So, you crack the eggs like this—" Dean started, only to have the bottom half break loose and fall into the bowl. "Nuts!"

"Would it not be faster to simply crush them?"

"Well, we don't eat the _shells_." Dean pulled the offending pieces out and picked up another egg. "That was just a mistake, before."

"I see."

_I'll bet__ you do, smartypants_. "And once you've got all the eggs in the bowl—without the shells—you whisk them around with a fork and mix in the milk."

"That does not look appetizing."

Sam took one look at his brother's expression and went to get Dean's flask out of his jacket.

"Thank _god,_" Dean practically bellowed. "—zilla," he added quickly, remembering who else was there.

"Is this another ingredient?"

"Not remotely." Dean uncapped the lid and took a swig out of the flask. Then he had another. And another. And—

"All right, Dean. That's enough," Sam broke in.

"Easy for you to say," Dean muttered, fastening the lid again and handing the flask back to Sam. "Where was I?"

"You were mixing the slimy yellow concoction with a fork," Castiel offered.

"It's not—never mind. That part's done. We can move on to the cooking now." Rummaging in the cupboard next to the stove, Dean came up with a medium-sized frying pan. "We add butter to keep the eggs from burning—"

"And make them taste good," Sam added.

"—but not enough so they're greasy." Dean wiped the excess butter back onto the plate and set the knife down. "So then you turn on the burner and—"

_*fwoom*_

"For crying out loud, Dean!"

"Sonofabitch, I _hate_ these places with gas burners! Whose idea was it to try to cook everything over a blowtorch, anyway?"

"The pan is black now."

"Yes, I know that, Castiel! It's black because it's burned." Dean dumped the pan into the sink and turned on the water, jerking back as the steam bubbled up and spat at him.

Castiel nodded. "So this part is to be discarded, then."

The growling noise that rose up in Dean's throat and tried to squeeze its way out was the final straw. He slapped the faucet off and headed for the parking lot, rain be damned.

Sam's voice was the last thing he heard as the door was closing:

"Let's talk about the basics of making a good salad…"

_-------- fin --------_


End file.
